


I'd Stay by Your Side Forever (If Only I Could)

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: Following the lives and evolving relationships of John Dickinson and James Wilson, from 1766 to 1787.---------Comments and kudos are vastly appreciated.





	1. March 1766

_March 1766_  
  
     The harshness of winter in Philadelphia had faded. Not in its entirety, of course, but the snow had slowly ceased to fall and was replaced with the constant chilling rain and an overabundance of frigid slush invading the streets. The trees were still barren and couldn’t provide shelter from the freezing winds, and the sky was constantly blanketed in a dense, foreboding layer of dark clouds. The sun only rarely made an appearance and the people on the streets appeared even more seldomly. No one seemed to want to be caught out in this weather, it seemed, and the streets stood a stark contrast to how James had imagined the most prominent city in America to be.

  
     Of course, everyone in Europe viewed the American colonies as nothing more than backwoods glorified wilderness. While that wasn’t far from wrong, the cold seasons only exacerbated that idea and the wide, grid-lined streets gave off a distinct sense of unwelcoming emptiness. At an abrupt gust of wind that caused the lifeless trees to shake, James pulled his wool cloak tighter around his shoulders. He continued to trudge through the damp streets, his hands burning slightly from the cold. James was used to the cold and rain, he’d had more of his fair share of it in Scotland, but he still considered it to be quite unpleasant and continually reprimanded himself for not living closer to the law firm. James tried to stop visibly shivering as he turned a familiar corner and stopped in front of his workplace.

  
     It wasn’t quite right to call it work. More of a mentorship program, at the hands of one of Philadelphia’s best lawyers. James had studied at various universities in Scotland, but never actually managed a degree. He was smart, he told himself, and hardworking, but none of the schools ever seemed to work out for him. In perhaps a last-ditch attempt to make something of himself, or perhaps just another way of passing the time, he found himself in Philadelphia, under the tutelage of Mr. Dickinson. To call John a mentor seemed odd to James; he was only, at thirty-four, around a decade James’ senior.

  
     James opened the door to the firm, relieved to be greeted with the warmth of a stoked fireplace. The sudden change in temperature caused him to shiver as he closed the door behind him. The sound of the door caused a slight movement in the back of the room; John looked up from his papers, having clearly been up working for quite a few hours. His eyebrows raised slightly when he saw James and he gave a small wave. James nodded back as he removed his hat and cloak, hanging them on their usual hooks near the door. With a final shiver, trying to get rid of the last of the cold, James approached his mentor at his desk near the fireplace. John looked up at him again, and James looked down at the desk sheepishly.

  
     “Good morning, James,” John said quietly, perhaps in an effort to get James to look up at him. While John might have been ten years James’ senior, he certainly didn’t look it. Bright blue eyes and a shaggy mane of curly brown hair, currently somewhat disheveled, John looked and acted as young as James was, if not younger. James’s eyes wandered down to John’s fingers. Slender, just like the rest of him, and repeatedly twirling a lock of brown hair, like they always did. While his hands were always manicured, they were also slightly calloused, something that always made James wonder what John’s childhood was like, what his life was like outside of the few hours a day they spent together. It always embarrassed James to realize how much of his thoughts were focused around John.

  
     “James?”

  
     James blinked, startled, and looked up at John, his face going slightly red. John looked back at him, the faintest hint of amusement on his face. James felt his breath catch in his chest at that and wanted desperately to look down at the floor, but he knew that would only serve to embarrass himself further.

  
     “Yes?” James stiffened at his own speech. “Yes, good morning, John…” John gave him a nervous smile at his awkward posture, and James felt his face only getting warmer. Everyone must have felt like this, James reasoned with himself, when they were talking with John. He simply had that effect on people. James wasn’t acting out of the ordinary, John was simply an intimidating person, who made everyone nervous with his startling blue eyes and his crooked, endearing smile. With his keen intelligence and his warmth, and his natural charm. Yes, that must have been it. Everyone was simply naturally taken with John Dickinson.

  
     James let out a silent sigh of relief as John broke their eye contact, leaning under his desk to retrieve something. He ran a hand through his hair, as he always did when he was at a loss for what to do, and watched the light from the fireplace sparkle against John’s dark, curly locks. It bounced on his shoulders as he moved, in a way that always brought a stubborn smile twitching on James’ lips. James’ hair never felt as soft as John’s looked, and James was always touched by an almost animalistic desire to reach out and touch it, to run his fingers through it. He always managed to stop himself though, and always found himself incredibly embarrassed by his own thoughts. James stiffened again when John’s head returned from under his desk, a thick file clutched tightly in his hands. He held it out to James, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it, his eyes still focused on John’s hands. John then resumed what he was doing when James came in, his quill pen scratching against parchment and his fingers rhythmically twirling a lock of dark hair between them.

  
     “I’m going to need those filled out by tonight if that’s not a problem,” he said, his eyes not moving from what he was writing. James swallowed, holding the folder close to his chest.

  
     “N-no,” he stammered, “That’s not a problem at all… John.”

  
     When James didn’t move from that spot, John paused, glanced up quickly at him and gave him another nervous smile.

  
     “Yes. Thank you.”

  
     James nodded with gritted teeth and quickly turned, walking stiffly to his desk on the opposite side of the room. When he was sure John wasn’t paying him any attention, far too absorbed in his work to pay much attention to anything, James collapsed into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face in a draining mixture of embarrassment and exhaustion. It seemed he was incapable of acting normal around John, and this habit of constantly embarrassing himself was starting to tire him. Still, he was sure that that happened to everyone when they were around John. His eyes and his oddly intoxicating manner had a way of doing that to people. There was no way it could be just him, James told himself. With a final exasperated sigh, James slid the stacks of parchment from their envelope. It was menial work, really, but it had to be done. As he set about dipping his pen into the inkwell at the corner of his desk, James’ eyes continually flicked back to John, who was still hunched over his desk, tugging at his hair like he always did. While John always tried to play the part of the haughty lawyer, James knew that he was doing the same menial work as James was. He liked to joke about only keeping James around for free labor, but he never made James do anything more than he himself was doing. It was odd, James thought, but he never brought it up.

  
     James shivered. His desk was on the opposite end of the room from the fireplace, and while it was warmer than outside it still occasionally got quite cold. James preferred the fresh air though, and the ability to stare out the window. He never let it get in the way of his work though; after dropping out of three universities he was determined to make something of himself this time. Still, there was something nice, at least in the warmer seasons, about watching the people outside, going about their days. He tended to lose track of time as he worked, but he continued to fill out pages and stack them in another pile beside him. He was almost halfway done when the outside world had commanded his attention. While the trees hadn’t yet started to bloom, the first of the birds had returned and James often enjoyed watching them. It was then, when he was staring up at the sky through the barren trees, that he first noticed a small break in the clouds and the golden light of the sun beaming down onto the damp street, reflecting off of the puddles and street lamps. The sight was accompanied with a sudden warmth on his shoulder that made him jump slightly in his seat.

  
     His head turned to see John’s hand on his shoulder, and his eyes naturally moved up to John’s face. John looked at him with a neutral expression, but his hand squeezed his shoulder gently, in a way that sparked an odd, nervous sensation in James’ chest. In John’s other hand was a cup of tea, which he carefully set down on James’ desk. He looked tired, James thought, biting the inside of his cheek. Still, the warmth of John’s hand made James feel a rare, indescribable emotion, and he looked away so John wouldn’t see the warmth rising to his cheeks.

  
     “How is everything going?” John asked quietly, looking over the various stacks of paper on James’ desk. James supposed his answer didn’t matter, as John had already picked up a few of the finished sheets and was rifling through them.

  
     “Good...” James replied, his eyes fixed on his quill pen. John gave James’ shoulder another squeeze and looked at him with the familiar crooked smile that always caused James’ heart to hammer against his chest.

  
    “These are great, James,” John murmured, “Thank you. You’ve been a huge help…” James quickly looked away, desperately willing himself to stop blushing.

  
     “It’s- it’s no problem at all, John.”

  
     John gave James another pat on the shoulder before returning to his desk, leaving only a steaming cup of tea where it sat next to James’ inkwell. The lack of warmth where John’s hand had been was upsettingly noticeable and James absentmindedly placed his own hand there, as if he were desperately seeking out any trace of John’s presence. After a few moments, he noticed what he was doing and stiffened, quickly removing his hand and using it to bring his cup of tea to his lips. It was still scaldingly hot but the heat was, though painful, slightly comforting. James wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but the effect of repeating to himself that everyone felt this way around John was starting to wear thin.

  
     The rest of the day passed slowly, monotonously, as James worked through the rest of his paperwork. He continually lost track of time, though every few hours John would return with another cup of tea and a hand on James’ shoulder and some gentle praise, that made James blush and internally vow to work even harder. The room only got increasingly colder as time passed, and the cloudy sky outside only got continually darker. James rubbed the back of his neck, which was sore from hunching over his desk for so long. Suddenly, a crackling roll of thunder sounded outside. James looked over at John, who slowly stood up and walked over to a window facing the street. The trees started to shake with the sudden downpour of rain, which pelted audibly against the windows.

  
     Having finally finished his work, James stood up, awkwardly cracking his neck, and walked over to stand beside John, who’d been standing silently at the window for some time. The rain had only gotten heavier and was rushing down the cobbled street in widening rivulets. James watched as John stared intently out the window, continuing to twirl a curl of hair in his fingers. James coughed quietly and John startled, glancing over at him. “Oh- I take it you’ve finished, James?”

     James simply nodded, staring out the window like John was only a moment ago. John gave him a small smile.

  
     “Thank you, James. Really.”

  
     James returned the smile, though he was always nervous about meeting John’s eyes. “It’s nothing, John.” James glanced back out the window. “Though it’s getting late. I should probably return home.”

  
     John looked at him, slightly confused, his eyebrows furrowed over his intimidatingly bright eyes. “In this weather?” James gave an awkward shrug and John scowled. “Nonsense, James. It’s a twenty-minute walk, you’ll freeze.” James opened his mouth to speak but John held up a hand, silencing him. “And if by some miracle you don’t freeze, you’ll get sick. And I’m not having that.”

  
     While James wanted to call what he felt at that moment “intimidated” there was a flood of indescribable emotions in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. “What then? Because I’m not sleeping here.”

  
     “Of course not. My apartment is only a few blocks. You can spend the night there.” At that moment James was glad for the rain as it gave him an excuse to look away from John and out the window as his entire face went red. There was nothing odd about this, James told himself, nothing intimate. It was raining, and James needed a place to stay. Perfectly natural. At James’ silence, John continued. “If that’s quite alright with you, James?”

  
     James quickly turned to him and nodded, perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary. Still, John smiled and pressed a hand to James’ shoulder for only a brief moment, a childish excitement sparkling in his eyes.

  
     “Then get your cloak, James, you’ll be needing it.”

  
     In a moment, James was standing by the door, his cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders with John beside him, surveying the forceful cascade of rain outside. John bit his lip, then turned to James with his eyebrows raised. “We’re going to have to run for it,” he said quietly. James felt a weight of dread in his chest and almost considered staying the night in the office when he felt his breath stop entirely in his chest and an overload of emotions hit him at once. He didn’t need to look down to tell that John’s hand had tightly clasped his own, instead, he looked up at John’s eyes and dazzling grin as John dragged him out of the relative safety of the office. The cold rain hit him hard, but all he could think about was the warmth of John’s hand and the feeling of John’s skin against his own as John pulled him along down the street. James’ cringed as his foot landed in a puddle and the rain beating against his face was anything but pleasant, but the quiet noise of John’s laughter filled his heart with an impenetrable warmth.

  
     James barely noticed when he was standing in the dry safety of John’s apartment, and his hand still tingled with warmth after John had let go of him. After lighting a fire in the fireplace, John beckoned for James to take off his hat and cloak, and then carefully stripped him of his coat, hanging it near the fire to dry. James took off his shoes and stood near the fire, feeling the rain from his hair drip uncomfortably down his back. Once he’d warmed up a bit and regained his senses, James felt somewhat nervous standing in John’s living room. John motioned for him to sit down on the sofa, and, as the clock on the wall struck eleven-thirty, John went off into a separate room to retrieve something James was unsure of. The living room was cozy and cluttered, though not messy, with stacks of books and papers having overflowed the bookshelves. It was hardly anything like the neat, proper appearance that John kept up in public, but James found it quite endearing. Feeling overwhelmed with exhaustion, James laid out on the couch, resting his head on his arm and closing his eyes, for only a moment, he told himself.

  
     John then returned and, before James could do anything, gave a small chuckle and moved closer to the couch. “Asleep already, James?” He asked quietly, not expecting an answer. “I must be working you too hard.” He then draped a heavy blanket over James’ shoulders, carefully tucking it in around him. He then leaned close, and James felt a sudden flush in his cheeks that he hoped John wouldn’t notice. James felt the tip of John’s thumb, warm against his skin as he brushed a droplet of water from James’ cheek. “Goodnight, James,” he whispered, before blowing out a candle and returning to his room, softly letting the door click shut behind him. James let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  
  



	2. April 1767

_ April 1767 _

 

     “A toast! To my dear friend James, and his great accomplishments!”

     James glanced around the crowded bar, his face flushed with embarrassment, to make sure no one was actually paying attention to them. No one had turned to look at John after his outburst and James gave a small sigh of relief, motioning with his hand for John to take it easy.

  
     “Please, John, keep your voice down…” James said meekly, covering his face with his hands. John only grinned in his usual charismatic fashion and slapped a hand on James’ back, causing him to jump. The feeling gave James an odd tingling sensation, though he wasn’t sure if that was due to John’s proximity or simply an effect of the alcohol. John was fairly more intoxicated than he was, James noticed, due to his uncharacteristically happy demeanor, though he’d only had a few drinks. 

  
     “Oh come on, James!” John grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “I want everyone to know how proud of you I am.” His hand moved to grip James’ shoulder. James looked down at his drink, his cheeks only getting warmer. He couldn’t help but smile at John’s words, as inebriated as he might have been. After a year under John’s wing, James had finally passed his bar exam. He was officially a lawyer, at least, in the colony of Pennsylvania. It still amazed him a little bit to realize he’d accomplished something like that; or that he accomplished something at all. Still, nothing made him happier than John constantly telling him just how proud of him he was. It was juvenile, James knew, for him to put so much stock in John’s praise, but he simply couldn’t help himself. James took another sip of his drink as John rubbed rhythmic circles on his back. 

  
     “Really, John, it’s nothing to go shouting to the entire world about.” James swirled the rum around in his mug and watched the candlelight reflect off the dark liquid. As much as he appreciated John’s praise, getting the attention of strangers was a different matter. The bar was crowded and the air was dense with the smoke from the fireplace and from various patrons’ pipes. Crowded bars were rarely James’ area of choice, but when he’d approached John with the news the excitement and the pride on John’s face were too visible for James to deny him when he suggested celebratory drinks. This wasn’t the first time they’d been out drinking; James was used to occasionally helping John home when he’d had a bit too much and then spending the night on his couch, as was becoming increasingly customary. James was glad that over the past year his nervousness around John had mostly disappeared; thinking back on the previous months, James had likely spent more nights in John’s apartment than in his own. It was closer, of course, so it was sensible for James to not want to make the long walk back to his own lodgings, especially after a long day at work. There was really nothing odd about it.

  
     John held his rum in both hands and scowled down into it. “Nonsense. I’m proud of you, and that’s that.” James turned to his pouting friend and smiled, placing a hand on John’s shoulder in that same familiar gesture he was so used to. John’s scowl immediately disappeared and was replaced with another warm smile. John then leaned over the bar and tugged on the sleeve of the bartender. “Two more rums, please,” he ordered, before turning back to James. James simply sighed and rested his chin in his hands. John’s slender frame meant he usually couldn’t handle his alcohol, but that never stopped him from trying. Upon receiving his two mugs of rum, John handed one to James and held his up above the bar. “Come on, James,” he chided. “Toast with me.” James rolled his eyes with a smile, but lazily clinked his mug against John’s. “To you!” John exclaimed, “And all the great things you’ll be doing from here on out.” 

  
     James sighed. “Alright, alright, John, there’s no need for that.” Still, James smiled as he sipped his drink, watching John demolish his own drink with considerably more vigor. John finished his drink with a sigh and placed the mug back on the table, looking over at James with a crooked smile and disheveled hair. When John smiled at him, James reached out, almost without thinking about it, and brushed the bangs from John’s forehead. When he realized what he was doing, John’s skin warm against his fingertips, he bit back a gasp and quickly pulled his hand away. John didn’t seem to mind; he simply laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling it further. White-hot embarrassment and a tinge of guilt burned cold in James’ chest as he looked back down into his rum, part of him wishing he’d just disappear on the spot. 

  
     “So,” John’s voice cut through James’ thoughts, “speaking of great things, what are you planning on doing from here on out?” The question had caught James off guard. Dickinson rarely talked about serious things when he was drunk; usually, he spoke of stray cats he saw that day or humorous anecdotes, or he simply made nonsensical rants that attracted the annoyed attention of everyone else in the bar. James mulled the question over in his mind for a moment. He’d thought about it, of course he had, but he never seriously entertained the thought of truly making something of himself, and he’d never actually discerned what he’d do when he got there. He shrugged, watching his muddled reflection as he swirled the rum around his glass. 

  
     “I figure I’ll move off to the country,” he said nonchalantly, “Set up a practice there. Get married.” While he expected a reaction, a clap on the shoulder, something, from John, there was none. After a moment of silence, James looked over at his companion, a bit unnerved by the awkwardness of the moment. John was simply staring down, hunched over, into his rum, his face blank. James bit his lip. “John?” Dickinson blinked and, after a moment, looked up, though not at James, and attempted to regain what he’d lost of his casual composure.

  
     “So you’re leaving me?” 

     While the tavern might have been crowded and noisy, the sound was muffled to James’ ears as he stared, slack-jawed, at John, who refused to look back at him. It took James a solid moment to understand John’s words, and even then he felt the meaning was lost on him. He watched as John ordered another rum, scowling, and drank it, resting his chin in his hands as if he lacked the strength to sit up properly. John’s eyes flicked to meet James’ momentarily, then he blushed and looked back down at his rum with a frown. The blank expression on James’ face slowly twitched into the smallest smile as he stared at John, who had the demeanor of a kicked puppy.

  
     “John…” 

  
     “Nevermind…” 

     James simply sighed and reached out for John’s hands, taking them in his own as John’s eyebrows raised in slight surprise. James turned to him and, meeting his sad blue eyes, gave his hands a gentle squeeze. John simply looked down at his lap with another frown. 

  
      “John…” James probed again, pausing until John looked back up at him. “You are always going to be my friend, you know.” John’s nose scrunched up in a way that James found entirely adorable, and James gave his hands another reassuring squeeze. “And you know I’m always going to care for you…” John sighed and removed his hands from James’, resting his chin in one and tugging on his hair with the other. 

  
     “Yes, yes I suppose,” he croaked, sounding a bit defeated. James gave him a sad smile and rested a hand on his shoulder. When John moved to attract the attention of the bartender, James bit his lip and squeezed more firmly on John’s shoulder. 

  
     “I think you’ve had enough, John, we really ought to get you home.” 

  
     John cocked his head to one side, fixing James with a questioning look. “What makes you say that?” A smirk twitched on James’ lips and his hand slid down to rest on John’s lower back. 

  
     “We both know it isn’t like you to get so emotional.” 

  
      John froze, midway through tugging his hair, as his face slowly reddened. His nose twitched, as it had a propensity to do when he was thoroughly embarrassed. James couldn’t help but laugh, which only embarrassed John further, as he stared down at the counter, his hands in his hair. James gently rubbed small circles on John’s back until John collected himself with a shaky sigh, looking more tired than embarrassed. 

  
     “I suppose you’re right, James,” he said, the sudden exhaustion eminent in his voice. James slid down from his seat and, his hand just barely touching John’s hip, helped John to do the same. James gave a small gasp when John’s legs almost gave out beneath him and instinctively reached out to support him. John leaned against him for a moment, then regained his composure, rubbing his forehead with his fingers with a wince. John swallowed. “Perhaps you were more right than I originally thought.” James simply smiled and led John outside, relishing the weight of John’s arm around his shoulders. James rested one hand firmly on John’s hip, just to make sure John wouldn’t fall, he told himself. 

  
     It was later than James had realized by the time they got outside. The sky was dark, but a scattering of stars were still visible, even through the hazy light of the streetlamps. James paused, the fresh air a relief from the smoke-filled air of the tavern, and judging by his closed eyes, John must have felt so too. It was warm, and slightly humid, though not the stifling heat of the Philadelphia summer. Simply warm, comforting, like the feeling of John’s arm against his shoulders. James looked up at the stars as he felt John’s cheek press against the top of his head. James blinked.

  
     “My head hurts,” John mumbled rather pathetically, and James gave a tired smile. John’s weight against him like this was something James was used to by that point. It wasn’t the first time James had to help his friend back home after a long night, though he never really minded it. With his hand securely on John’s hip, James started walking down the street towards John’s apartment, his eyes fixed on the stars overhead. 

  
     “It’s nice out tonight, isn’t it?” John mumbled into the side of James’ head. James nodded with an affirmative hum. The walk was longer than James had expected, though perhaps he was simply moving slower with John leaning against him. His hand would grip John’s waist more tightly when his friend would stumble over the cobblestones, and John would give that same drunken giggle that never failed to make James smile. He didn’t mind helping John like this, and while most of the nervousness he suffered in John’s presence was no longer an issue, the closeness set a burning in James’ chest that made it hard for him to put his thoughts together. The feeling of John’s cheek against his head and gentle breath against his ear made James’ cheeks go warm with a happy sort of agitation that he didn’t quite know how to describe.

  
     Eventually, the two had stumbled back to John’s apartment, and James fished around in his pocket for his key, (John had given him his own key many months ago) with John leaning heavily on his shoulders. James’ back was starting to ache and he was relieved to finally be able to set John down on the couch. He’d tried to convince John to go to bed, but John insisted he was far too tired to go the extra distance to his room, so he simply shrugged off his coat, hanging it haphazardly over the back of a chair and kicked off his shoes. James did the same, albeit much more neatly, and laughed inwardly at the forgone niceties in John’s drunken stupor. He watched as the older man shook his fingers through his hair, disheveling it. John’s fingers numbly removed the ribbon in his hair and James bit his lip as the soft, brown curls fell across Dickinson’s shoulders. James moved behind the couch, perhaps also a little too drunk for his own good, and ran his fingers through John’s hair, stroking the dark locks like he might a pet cat.

  
     “You really ought to get this cut, John,” he mumbled, continuing to fumble through Dickinson’s hair. John made an obstinate grunt and tugged his head away from James’ hands. Only then did he realize he quite liked what James was doing, and, after a moment of drunken deliberation, let his head fall back into the other man’s reach. James continued playing with John’s curls as John protested his suggestion.

  
     “No. I shan’t. I quite like it.” 

  
     James smiled. “Oh, so do I, John, but it’s so long…” He lifted up John’s hair to prove his point. “And these curls are simply preposterous…” John gave another grunt, though James wasn’t sure if that was in response to his teasing, or to John’s sudden inability to unbutton his waistcoat.

  
     “Well I think my hair is quite pretty, James,” he bit back, trying to sound forceful, but only managing to amass the force of a petulant child. He gave a distressed whine as he continued to fail at unbuttoning his waistcoat, squirming slightly in his seat at his annoyance. James decided it wasn’t worth it to let him struggle and let his hair fall back on his shoulders, moving around the couch to help him with those dastardly buttons. Kneeling in front of him, James slowly undid the buttons lining John’s waistcoat, as John gave a sigh of relief.

  
     “Yes, yes it’s very pretty, John.” 

  
     John simply scowled, his eyebrows furrowed over his bright blue eyes, still sparkling with that fire they always had whenever he had to argue something. 

     “Yes. It is.”

  
     When all the buttons were undone, which took James longer than it should have, realizing he was quite inebriated as well, James motioned for John to sit up. John did so with a groan and James attempted to wrestle him out of the waistcoat. When the man and the coat where finally separated, James gave a sigh of exhaustion and tossed it into a darkened corner of the room. John didn’t really seem to mind the haphazard discarding of his clothes, and he placed his hands firmly on James hips, tucking his thumbs under the waistband of his breeches, and pulled him down on top of himself. James couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened. His thighs were pressed against John’s waist, his lips just inches from John’s forehead. John still had that same lopsided smile plastered on his face. James’ hands gripped the back of the couch, his knuckles white and trembling. He felt like he needed to say something yet he’d never felt more mute before in his life. 

  
     “John…” It came out as a stammering croak, yet James was too overwhelmed to feel embarrassed. He wasn’t sure if this was some kind of fluke, if it was just John making a clumsy mistake and James’ drink-addled brain putting too much meaning into it. But when he saw the gleam in John’s eyes, the cunning, almost teasing look, James knew it had to have been deliberate. John’s hands slid up to James’ waist and James tried so hard to ignore the rising warmth inside of him. To be held like this, nay, to be held like this by John - it was impossible to convince himself that this wasn’t everything he’d dreamed of for the past year. The sight of John’s wolfish, lopsided grin made his heart hammer in his chest.

  
     “Yes, James?” At that point, James knew Dickinson was teasing him. “Do you have something to say?” He was so smug that James just wanted to grab a handful of his hair and tug, but he knew that would just goad John on further. And anyway, James knew it would be a sin to damage such beautiful hair and such a beautiful man. Instead, he gently brushed the bangs from John’s forehead and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and stop the trembling in his fingers.

  
     “No, John, I don’t believe I do.” His hands, suddenly feeling very weak, moved down to rest on John’s shoulders, and, with this newfound intimacy, John found his confidence dissipating. There was no going back now though, and James let his eyes fall shut when he felt John’s nose in the crook of his neck. James felt a shiver up his spine at the sensation of John’s breath on his skin and bit his lip, wishing John would do something. It was then when he felt the warmth of John’s lips on his neck, and John’s hand sliding up under his waistcoat, far too intrigued now to worry about buttons. James couldn’t help but moan quietly at the feeling of John’s lips, then his teeth, and his hands on his skin. James’ hand moved to cup John’s cheek, which caused John to open his eyes, those blazingly blue eyes, and James gently tilted his head so that he might kiss him. John’s eyes closed again with a smile as James’ lips found their way to his. James never particularly enjoyed rum, but on John’s tongue the taste was exhilarating. Something burned inside James, a rare, visceral feeling that caused him to push John back against the couch, his tongue grazing his teeth. After a moment, James slowly pulled away, his lungs burning for lack of oxygen. John seemed to feel the same, for all his wolfish grins, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He then fell over on his side, pulling James down with him, and wrapped his arms around James’ waist. His lips still lingered on James’ neck while their legs intertwined, and John slipped one hand under the waistband of James’ breeches.

  
     James was too drunk, too overwhelmed, too oxygen-starved to think of much of anything, other than the golden euphoria that seemed to fill his entire body. John’s skin burned against his as he pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, relishing the taste of salt on his skin. Sweat, rum, and tavern smoke had never tasted better, it seemed. Slowly, the gentle rubs against his skin and the movement of lips on his neck slowed to a halt, and only the sound of John’s gentle breathing filled the room. It was warm, intoxicatingly so, yet James dared not move for risk of disturbing the man. John was constantly so bright, always moving, always thinking, and yet now… James could only smile at John’s newfound peace. He could only smile, and eventually once again fall asleep on John’s couch. 


	3. November 1775

_ November 1775 _

 

     A carriage clattered down a wide, cobblestoned street, having traveled from the West for a day, from the far more barren and slow-paced Pennsylvania countryside. It had just entered the outskirts of Philadelphia, though it’s passenger could have known that from the distinct scent of the city, or the already increasing clamor of noise from its people. The leaves of the trees were fading from vibrant oranges and reds to an assortment of browns, before falling from their branches into mishappen piles on the ground. The occasional breeze would stir them and the leaves would flutter across the streets, only to be crushed in turn underfoot or the wheels of a carriage. Time, to James, seemed to pass more quickly in the city than in the countryside, and the sheer amount of people, always moving about their day had a tendency to overwhelm him. He didn’t quite mind it though; keeping busy, or even being overwhelmed was preferable to boredom. 

  
     A week earlier James had been instructed that he was to act as the new delegate from Pennsylvania to the Continental Congress. He’d readily accepted of course; it was a great honor to be asked to serve one’s colony like this, especially for someone as unassuming as James was. A moderately successful judgeship in the country, a couple fairly popular written pamphlets, and a decent amount of unusable wealth made from shifty land speculation hardly amounted to much in the grand scheme of things, James thought. Still, he was honored to serve such a cause, be it independence, reconciliation, or god knows what else. The thought of it brought a bitter smile to his lips. He knew deep in his heart he didn’t care for ‘the cause’ one way or another. He’d accepted the position for one reason, and for one reason only. 

  
     It just so happened that reason had a lopsided smile and a predilection for the color green. It also just so happened that today was that reason’s birthday. James eyed the packages in his lap and, for about the thousandth time that day, his brain was again flooded with thoughts of John. John, whose infectious laugh was still firmly planted in James’ mind, whose eyes he could see in the color of the sky at noon on a clear day, and whose touch he still desperately craved to the point his skin burned for want of it. James swallowed, trying to clear his head of such thoughts. Still, he bit his lip as he fingered the slip of paper in his pocket. Under the pretense of attempting to secure work relations, James had asked for Mr. Dickinson’s address. The governor, seeing no issue with this, willingly gave it, and James had decided to take a detour, rather than find his way to his own lodgings. As he gently twisted the slip of paper back and forth between his fingers, doubts crowded his thoughts.

  
     John might not be home. He might be busy. Hell, he might not even want to see him. James swallowed uncomfortably at the last one. It had been a few years since they’d seen each other face to face. Of course, they’d kept up a regular correspondence, a regular, intimate correspondence. A correspondence that, as much as it hurt his heart, required James to burn the letters after he’d read them, at the risk of someone else finding them. Still, for as warm as his letters were, there was no guarantee that John was at all interested in seeing him again. His hair had greyed considerably and- James bit his lip, shaking the idea from his mind. If he let himself start thinking these things he’d only wind up making a fool of himself, as he was prone to do when overcome with nerves. The carriage slowly rolled to a stop and James let out a shaky breath, gripping the packages in his lap as if his life depended on it. 

  
     It was cold when he stepped out, even for mid-November the wind was biting, and he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. He couldn’t quite understand the palpable nervousness inside of him, causing his heart to beat more rapidly as he stared up at John’s front door. He could hear his own breathing at that point, quick, shallow, shaky, as he stood firmly in place. He’d gone over this a thousand times in his head, and yet here he was, unable to move. There should be nothing frightening about this, he knew. It was only John, his oldest, dearest friend - perhaps ‘friend’ wasn’t the right word. After everything they’d been through, experienced with each other, ‘friend’ was hardly an accurately encompassing term. After everything John had expressed to him in his letters, he doubted John would be satisfied to simply be christened a ‘friend’ either. Trembling, from the cold, he told himself, James knocked on the door.

     After a moment’s silence, James regretted everything that had brought him here. John probably wasn’t even home, or he was busy or- 

  
     “James…?” 

     James had been so deep in his own thoughts he barely registered the door opening. He swallowed as he looked up at his entire reason for coming to Philadelphia, standing a few steps above him. He looked tired, his hair and clothes were disheveled, his waistcoat halfway unbuttoned. Still, his eyes were as bright as they always were and James could barely force himself to speak. 

  
     “Hello, John.” A pause of bewildered silence on John’s part, that slowly melted into a smile. John almost looked as overwhelmed as James felt, his bright eyes wide in disbelief. 

  
     “James!” The exhaustion was gone from John’s face as he tackled James in a hug, burying his face in the crook of his neck and holding him tightly to his chest. James felt his anxiety dissipate as soon as he was embraced by John’s warmth, the familiar feeling of John’s hands on his back and John’s hair tickling his cheek. The faint scent of ink laced with the smell of rum was so familiar, so comforting to him that he let his eyes fall shut for a moment until John slowly released him. James opened his eyes to see John was grinning, that infectious, lopsided smile that never failed to make James feel excited to his core. James simply stood there, unable to keep the shaky smile off of his face either. 

  
     “John.” 

  
     “God I’ve missed you.”

  
     “Yeah,” James replied breathlessly. He’d prepared eloquent words for the day he finally got to see John again, the day he finally got to hold him in his arms, but they refused to come and he simply stood there, euphoric and mute until John put an arm around his shoulders protectively against another gust of wind. 

  
     “Please, James, come in, before you freeze to death.” James relished the opportunity to be close to John again as John hurried him inside, closing the door behind them. Greeted with the relief of warmth from the bitter cold outside, James examined his companion’s lodgings with a smile. The stacks of papers, opened books, and half-emptied inkwells explained the exhaustion on John’s face. When James turned around though, that exhaustion was nowhere to be found; John, with a grin, graciously took James’ hat from his head, only to fling it into a far corner and pull James into a kiss. James made a quiet, startled noise, but hurriedly placed the packages onto a nearby table and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, melting into the warmth of John’s lips against his own. In a moment James’ lips were on John’s jaw, which was just barely graced with stubble, then his neck, then his exposed collar bone. A slight nip caused John to tense, a startled hiss gave James a sense of satisfaction. 

  
     “You sure are feistier than I remember…”

  
     “Only because I’ve been waiting so long.”

  
     John placed the fingertips of one hand under James’ chin and slowly tilted it upwards. James was already slightly flushed, though that much could be expected. One finger slid upwards to caress James’ cheek, causing James to give a shaky smile at the slight tickling sensation. John smirked, and James noticed the slight, endearing lines on his cheeks. 

  
     “It has been a long time, hasn’t it, James?” John said quietly, the hint of a mean glint in his eyes. “Look at you, your hair’s all grey.” James’ hands immediately went protectively to the top of his head, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment. John’s hair was still that dark, lovely brown that made James’ fingers itch for want of touching it. Noticing James’ embarrassment, John’s smirk faded to a sincere smile and he gently pushed his fingers through James’ hair. “And still quite soft. And quite becoming of you.” James no longer felt insulted, but still quite embarrassed, and his eyes trailed over to his hat, which lay unceremoniously in the far corner of the room. With a soft sigh, John’s hands went to James’ shoulders, then trailed down his arms until he was holding James’ hands in his own. He gave them a slight squeeze, and James, suddenly unable to look away from John’s face, found himself horribly, nervously in love once again. 

  
     “Well then, James,” John’s crystalline voice cut through James’ thoughts like a knife. “We must talk.” He hurried over to the couch, gathering up discarded books and papers and almost frantically tried to find a place for them. “I apologize for the mess,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ve just been so busy. If I knew you’d be coming I would have…” He trailed off, and James bit his lip. 

  
     “I’m sorry, I really should have sent a message ahead, but I only got the news a week ago... It was rude of me to just show up un-” James was cut off when John whipped around, one hand in the air to silence him. 

  
     “No, James, this is really the best thing to happen to me in weeks. Please,” John waved a hand towards the couch, “Sit, sit.” He stopped himself with a wince. “Wait- let me take your coat.” James would have laughed at John’s bedraggled disheveledness if the poor man hadn’t looked so tired. Still, John’s hands on his chest as he slowly removed his coat filled James with a familiar warmth, and James had to hold himself back from simply grabbing John by the waist and kissing him all over again. Instead, he obeyed, retrieving his packages from the table before taking a seat on the single spot on the couch that wasn’t covered in parchment.

  
     John continued moving about the room, organizing various things as he called over his shoulder, “So what news?” James sat for a moment, before realizing John’s meaning.

  
    “Oh! They’ve sent me to act as another delegate from Pennsylvania. To the Congress,” he added. John looked at him in surprise, then grinned, placing a stack of books he’d retrieved from the floor onto his desk.

     “That’s fantastic, James. I suppose we’ll be together again then, just like old times.” James gave a happy nod as John pulled a chair over from the far corner of the room, before collapsing into it with an exhausted sigh. After a moment, he opened his mouth to speak, only to pause and eye the packages in James’ lap suspiciously. “And what are those?”

  
     James felt himself overwhelmed with embarrassment again and awkwardly held out the packages. “Happy birthday, John…”

  
     A momentary silence. “What?” John blinked, his eyebrows furrowing into a confused scowl for a moment, before he realized, and sat up slightly in his seat. “Oh… I suppose it is, isn’t it?” James’ mouth fell open and he pulled the packages back into his lap.

  
     “You forgot your own birthday, John?!” 

     John laughed nervously, leaning on an armrest and tugging at his hair. “I’ve been so busy, James, I…” He stopped talking and simply shook his head with a tired smile. James leaned forward in his chair, deciding that the bangs sitting messily on John’s forehead had bothered him long enough, and brushed them out of the way. 

  
     “You’ve always worked too hard for your own good, John.”

  
     “Rich, coming from you.” James raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t been keeping up with your work, James,” John continued with a smirk. “And after making the bar with only a year of studying law… I’d say you work even harder than I do.” James gave a sharp laugh to hide his happiness at John’s praise. John’s words always had a way of overwhelming him with euphoria and he had to work to keep his emotions in check.

  
     “And you’re one to talk, Mr. Pennsylvania farmer?” 

  
     John’s eyes widened in surprise before he gave James a foxish grin. “So you know?”

     James snorted. “Most farmers don’t quite possess the literary talents you do, John.” John smiled at the compliment. It had been a while since he’d been recognized for his anonymous work.

  
     “So you’ve been keeping up with my work?” James prompted, returning to their conversation and trying to keep the elation out of his voice. John smirked in a way that highlighted the faint crease on his cheek and James felt a momentary urge to kiss it.

  
     “Of course. _Considerations on the Nature and Extent of the Legislative Authority of the British Parliament._ Christ, that’s a mouthful.” James reached out to give him a light slap on the head for his teasing, and John, sensing his opportunity, snatched the packages from James’ lap.

  
     “Hey!”

  
     “What?” John asked incredulously, his usual teasing tone eminent in his voice. “It’s my birthday!” John picked up the larger of the two packages in his hands, tilting it’s weight back and forth between them. “What is it?” 

     James leaned back in his seat, resting his chin in his hand and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, you’ll have to open it.” His voice was laced heavily with sarcasm, but he knew he found John’s excitability adorable. John hurriedly split the twine holding the package together with a firm tug and tore the paper apart, revealing a plate piled high with cookies, which, to his amusement, James noticed were the same color as John’s hair. John, without any hesitation bit into one, his eyes lighting up.

  
     “Molasses?” He asked through a mouthful of cookie.

  
     James gave an affirmative hum.

  
     “These are my favorite.”

  
     “I am quite well aware.” 

  
     John smiled and leaned forward in his seat, holding out a bit of cookie between his fingers for James. When James’ hand moved to take it, John shook his head. James sighed and parted his lips for John, who placed the cookie in his mouth with a smirk. James nodded appreciatively. He’d been practicing making those for months on end and he was glad to see his hard work had paid off. John picked up the smaller, lighter of the two packages and held it appraisingly in his hands, before tearing into the packaging much like he did the previous. When he saw its contents his lips parted slightly and he slowly removed the object from it’s wrapping. A scarf, soft and emerald green, that John trailed gently over his fingers before gripping it tightly and looking up at James.

  
     “This is lovely, James,” he said, with a rare sort of emotional sincerity. James smiled with a casual shrug and attempted to brush it off before John suddenly flung the scarf around his neck and used it to pull him into a kiss. James gave a muffled noise of surprise but quickly wrapped his arms around John’s body, pulling him onto the couch with him. John pushed him down, sending parchment sliding to the floor. John leaned in closer, taking James’ hand in his own as he kissed him deeply, the scarf now tangled disorderly between their limbs. James snaked his other hand into John’s hair, only just realizing how much he’d missed its softness, its curls, its beautiful color. He gave it a tug and John made an annoyed noise in his throat, pushing James down onto the couch more roughly. James closed his eyes and relished the feeling of John’s weight on top of him, John’s tongue in his mouth, John’s hair twisted between his fingers. He’d missed this, god he missed this. It had been far too long since he’d felt the warmth that only John could manage to give him, and no letter was an apt substitute for the man himself.

     James slowly pushed John away, despite what he desperately wanted, if only to gasp for air for a brief moment. “God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” he panted. His voice was rough and hoarse, and John returned his teeth to James’ lip far too soon for him to recover. 

  
     “I’m sorry my letters couldn’t serve you the way I’d hoped,” John said roughly, seemingly having read James’ mind. “Believe me, James, I did so try.” Not wanting to part his hand from James’, John attempted to unbutton the waistcoat on the desperate man beneath him with a single hand, and, when that failed to go as planned, he gave a frustrated growl and quickly untied James’ cravat instead, before giving him a harsh kiss on the neck. James moaned in a way that would have embarrassed him if he could have brought himself to care, as his hips bucked underneath John’s weight. 

  
     “Don’t worry John, you’re making up for it now.”   
  
     An hour later the two sat tangled in both the scarf and their own limbs on the too-small couch, James clutching to John’s body for dear life. They both laid there, panting in companionable silence, the various scents of sweat and molasses heavy in the room. John reached for the plate of cookies, which he’d carefully placed on the floor before pinning James to the couch, and popped one into his mouth. “You really are wonderful, James, have I told you that?” 

  
     “Yes, you have, but not nearly enough.”

  
     John smiled and rolled over, pressing another kiss to James’ forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for that too, darling.” 


	4. June 1776

_June 1776_

 

_How can anyone see you if you insist on standing in Mr. Dickinson’s shadow?_

 

     James had mulled the question over in his mind for days on end, often sitting by the window in John’s study, his hands on a cup of tea or a book he didn’t plan to read and thought about it, over and over and over again. The main issue, James realized, is that people inherently assumed he minded standing in John’s shadow, that the only thing keeping him from stepping into the spotlight was his own weakness or cowardice or some other shortcoming that held him back from achieving what he wanted. But that simply wasn’t true. He never quite enjoyed the attention of others, (not including the attention of John, of course) and was far more comfortable assisting from the sidelines, or simply being there for his friends when he was needed. Unlike most of the people he knew, he had no strong will to make an everlasting change upon the Earth, he had no drive to make himself known, and he was perfectly content with that. It only seemed that no one else would be content with that, and they would continue to treat him like some sort of mindless animal, made only to bend to John’s will.

  
     James knew he had free will and he knew he was free to exhibit it at any time, but the fact still remained that John had an ability to capture his attention in a way that couldn’t be broken. He couldn’t understand how everyone simply wasn’t as taken with John as he was, what with his natural charm and wit and, well, everything. He wasn’t standing in John’s shadow because he was too pathetic to step into the light; John was the light. It just so happened that everyone else was standing in his shadow as well.

     The thought rested, quite frustratingly, in James’ mind as he sat down in the slow-moving carriage beside John, close enough that their hands would occasionally brush together, and James could feel the comforting warmth of John beside him. His eyes would occasionally flicker to John’s face, only momentarily, but long enough to set a nervous prickling in James’ chest at John’s expression. It had been a long day and tensions had been higher than they’d been in a very long time. Arguments had led to physical violence and John hadn’t been himself for the rest of the afternoon. Unfortunately, things like this had been happening more and more in the previous months, and John would ride home beside him in stubborn, discontented silence.

  
     It seemed worse than usual today, and John stared down at his lap with a brooding look, one hand resting tenderly on the opposite shoulder and his other gripping the seat of the carriage until his knuckles turned white. It always filled James with distress to see John like this, yet he never knew exactly how to pull John out of the miserable hole he’d dug for himself. Usually, he’d just wait quietly, patiently, for John to piece himself back together, but he was never quite sure how long that would take. Sometimes hours, sometimes days on end of John sulking around their apartment like a wounded animal. John would be withdrawn at best and downright belligerent at worst and, with an inward sigh, James knew he wasn’t up for dealing with that. It wasn’t that John was ever outright mean to him, but abrupt responses and constant scowling had a propensity to wear on his nerves quite quickly. Furthermore, John had a propensity to forgo such basic rituals such as sleeping or eating in lieu of working himself to the bone in order to gain something, anything, that could possibly give him a leg up on the opposition. This only served to exacerbate John’s frustration and stress James further. He was determined not to go through that again.

  
     Slowly, hesitantly, James touched his hand to John’s, his fingers grazing John’s knuckles as he silently coaxed him into releasing his grip on the seat. John did, albeit cautiously, as if the leather he was clinging to was some kind of lifeline, and James carefully placed his hand in John’s grip, intertwining their fingers as he watched a bit of the anger dissipate from John’s expression. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the ride, but James gently rubbed his thumb over John’s knuckles until the tension left his shoulders. John still wouldn’t look at him, his anger now dissolved into sulking, but gave his hand an appreciative squeeze. James looked out at the street as they passed with slight paranoia, though he knew no one could see them.

  
     John’s mood hadn’t changed by the time the two made it back to his apartment. Realistically it was their apartment, as most of James’ belongings were already there, which could easily enough be explained away through long nights of working together. Of course, no one really asked why they took the same carriage to and from the statehouse; their lodgings were only a few blocks from each other it only made sense. Only the carriage driver knew that James spent nearly every night in John’s home, though he probably didn’t expect that James spent nearly every night in John’s bed as well. When he realized that John was too busy sulking to open the door, James did it for him with the key John had given him and held the door open for John as he marched inside and collapsed unceremoniously on the couch. James simply stood and watched as John tugged at his hair and bit his lip in frustration. 

  
     Seeing John like this gave James an overwhelming sense of sadness, and he wanted desperately to make himself useful. It was too hot to start a fire for tea, far too hot, so rum would have to do. It usually helped to calm John down, or at least remedy the damnable sulking, but by the time James returned with two mugs in his hands, John had disappeared from where he’d collapsed on the couch.

  
     “John?” James called with an odd worry in his voice.

  
     “Bedroom,” a muffled response came back. With a sigh, James followed John’s voice down the hall, easing open the door to their shared bedroom. John was seated at the edge of the bed, still rubbing his shoulder tenderly, his shoes and coat haphazardly discarded on the floor. James shook his head with a pointed look at John, who gave a lazily apologetic shrug. Placing the mugs down onto a bedside table, James picked up John’s coat from the floor and draped it over the back of a chair. He then sat down on the corner of the bed, close enough to John so that their knees brushed against each other. After a few minutes, the silence, which James usually could appreciate, became intolerable.

  
     “Are you okay, John?” His voice was faint, yet it cut through the tense silence like a knife. It was a bit of a lame question, James knew, and he doubted he’d get a straight answer, but he felt it necessary to ask anyway.

  
     “Of course I am, James.” It was blunt, but there was no frustration in his voice. There was no discernable emotion in his voice at all, James noticed, except for exhaustion. John fell back onto the bed, his hands in his hair, and stared up at the ceiling. James bit his lip. It was moments like these that painfully reminded him how easily he took the brightness in John’s eyes for granted, and it set an oppressive coldness in his heart to realize how easily he could come to miss it. He placed one hand lightly on John’s chest, feeling the slight movements with each breath he took, and slowly set about undoing the buttons on John’s waistcoat, like he’d done a thousand times before. After a few buttons were undone, James slipped his hand under the coat, feeling the gentle ridges of John’s ribs through his shirt. James barely noticed he was doing it; John’s body had an odd way of attracting James’ hands to it that James didn’t realize until John opened one eye to look at him discerningly.

  
     “James.”

  
     “Hm?”

  
     “That tickles.”

  
     “Oh!” James hurriedly retracted his hand, though he felt relieved to his core just to see the slight smirk on John’s face, the one that always highlighted the faint lines on his cheeks that James was so fond of. Once again only vaguely in control of his body, James leaned down onto the bed and pressed a faint kiss to John’s cheek, cupping John’s face in his hand and gently resting his forehead against John’s temple. Hardly satisfied, James pressed another kiss, then another, then another, and he would have continued for eternity if John hadn’t started quietly laughing and waving his hands dismissively above his head.  
“Alright, alright, James, you’ve proven your point.”

  
     James sat up, looking at John questioningly but still smiling. “My point? I didn’t think I had one.” John shrugged, placing a hand on James’ thigh. “Though maybe,” James continued, resting his chin in his hand, “My point was simply that I love you.” John smiled, though the exhaustion was still visible in his eyes, and gave James’ thigh a loving pat.

  
     “Yes, maybe it was.”

  
     James continued unbuttoning John’s waistcoat until he gently motioned for John to sit up.  Eventually, John did so, albeit with much groaning and complaining, and James carefully separated the man from the coat. When he went to pull the coat from John’s shoulder, John winced, instinctively covering it with his hand. An upsetting sense of worry spiked inside of James and he tenderly placed his hand over John’s.

  
     “Your shoulder…”

     John scowled, biting his lip and James could tell just how much he hated being looked after, much less pitied. His lips parted for a moment as if he were about to say something, but instead, John just looked down at his lap as James slowly unbuttoned the light cotton shirt, the only thing separating his hands from John’s skin. With the buttons halfway undone, James tugged the shirt off of John’s shoulder, revealing a dark, reddish bruise covering the entirety of the bone. James gasped through his teeth as John laid back down, covering his eyes with his forearm.

  
     “Oh, John…” James muttered, unable to keep the pitying tone out of his voice. John simply sighed, the exhaustion and frustration creeping up on him.

  
     “It seems my dear friend Mr. Adams had managed to get a good hit in earlier…” John mumbled, his eyes still covered by his arm. James bit down on his lower lip, nearly to the point that he’d hurt himself. His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the bedsheets, and he wasn’t quite sure what the pained feeling rising within him was. John coming home sulking, his voice ruined from a day of shouting matches with incendiary rebels was one thing, but now John was injured, he was hurt, and James’ knuckles were turning white from the strength of his grip. Anger was not an emotion James was overly familiar with, yet at that moment he truly resented Mr. Adams, nay, every member of that damnable congress that insisted in putting his John through such pain day after day.  
He must have been silently trembling for some time, James realized, as John slowly removed his forearm from his eyes and placed his hand over James’. John seemed just as surprised to witness the thinly veiled anger in James’ expression as James was to feel it, and he slowly rubbed his thumb across James’ knuckles as James had done for him before. A sad smile slowly appeared on John’s face which managed, in a matter of seconds, to transform James’ anger into embarrassment.

  
     “Are you angry with him, James?” John asked quietly, the faintest hint of amusement audible in his voice. James suddenly remembered the reason he rarely bothered getting angry; everyone else simply found it amusing.

  
     “Yes,” he responded bluntly, staring off at the far corner of the room, not wanting to meet John’s ever-endearing smirk. When John didn’t quite respond, just raised his eyebrows with a faint hum, James eventually looked at him, the sight of John’s eyes quelling any negative feelings inside of him. “Aren’t you?” John looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment, cupping his chin in his hand, and for a brief moment, James didn’t care what he’d say so long as he could continue to stare into John’s restlessly flickering eyes.  

  
     “I was,” John said, still sorting out his thoughts in his mind. “Then I realized I mostly just pitied him.” His eyes flicked down to meet James’ with amusement. “I know he’d hate that.” James' eyebrows shot up with a mixture of confusion and concern. With a sudden grin, John grabbed James by the collar and pulled him down next to him, laying on his side so their noses were mere inches apart.

  
     “You pity him?” James prompted. John nodded, resting his head on one arm and using the opposite hand to fiddle with James’ hair. “Why?” John laughed sharply through his teeth, twirling a lock of silver between his fingers.

  
     “Do I really need to say it?”

     James shrugged, and John gave an odd smirk that lacked either humor or malice. “He has no friends, he is resented, quite literally, by all of Philadelphia, his insufferable personality is proving to be the downfall of his entire cause, every time he opens his mouth he’s shooting himself in the foot,” John paused to breathe, “And at least when I have a terrible day I have the blessing of returning home to you. He doesn’t have that luxury.”

     James chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose it is rather sad isn’t it?” John gave a sharp laugh, pressing a kiss to James’ lips. “You think I’m a blessing?” James asked, his cheeks going slightly warm. John grinned.

  
     “Oh, most certainly, James. If it weren’t for you I’d have lost my sanity ages ago.” Gentle fingers in his hair and another kiss to his lips gave James an unshakable feeling of warm happiness and he placed a hand on John’s chest, right where he could feel the beat of his heart and pushed him firmly onto his back. James then sat himself on John’s hips, eliciting a quiet grunt from the man beneath him, and continued unbuttoning his shirt. James ran his hands along the newly exposed skin, feeling John twitch under him as his fingers grazed his stomach. He forgot how ticklish the man could be.

  
     “Oh really?” James asked with a lightly teasing tone in his voice. John nodded, his eyes closed as James’ hands came to rest at his waist.

  
     “Definitely. You’re all I’ve got.”

  
     James leaned over him, pressing a tender kiss to his bruised shoulder, which was still warm with injury. He then pressed another kiss to his collarbone, then to his chest, which rose and fell softly with every slow breath John took. “You think so?” James asked, talking merely to fill the void. John gave an affirmative hum, letting his eyes fall shut. James stopped for a moment, frankly somewhat surprised at John’s response. “What about Rutledge?” A sharp laugh and John’s eyes flicked open. He rested his hands behind his head with an amused grin.

  
     “Rutledge?” He echoed, “I wouldn’t trust that brat as far as I could throw him.” John’s amusement was infectious and James couldn’t help but smile.

  
     “I thought you two were friends?”

  
     “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s good company, charming kid,” John waved offhandedly, “But I’d bet you everything he’s simply waiting for the debate to turn in his favor. Waiting for something mutually beneficial.” James’ eyes met John’s, who looked at him with an odd seriousness. “At least Mr. Adams can have the pride of saying he cares for his country, even if he goes about it in entirely the wrong way. That boy doesn’t care for anything but himself.”

  
      James didn’t respond, except for a nod, his hands still magnetized to John’s body, his fingers grazing the trail of hair that led down into his breeches. John stared up at the ceiling, suddenly absorbed in his own thoughts.

  
     “No, James,” his voice cut the silence, “You’re the only one I can trust.” John quickly placed his hands on James’ shoulders, pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. James swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by the proximity as his eyes were locked with John’s, those blazing pools of blue that James adored more than anything else in the world. He’d been this close with John before, hell, he’d been closer, and yet every time it caused these nervous, giddy feelings inside of him. John’s breath tickled James’ nose, thankfully reminding him to breathe. “Do you understand me, James?” John asked quietly, an uncharacteristic fear lacing his voice. John licked his lips and if James could move he would have kissed him. “You’re all I’ve got.” The crack in his voice hit James like a punch in the stomach, and he forced himself to part with John’s eyes, leaning in to kiss his neck.

  
     “I know John, I know.”

  
     “Promise you won’t leave me.”

  
     “Never.”

  
     A sigh of relief escaped John’s chest, bringing a bittersweet smile to James’ lips. Another kiss to John’s neck, to his jaw, to his cheek, and James could feel the tension, the fear leave John’s body. John’s hands on his back and John’s lips on his cheek, and James was once again desperate for the feeling of John’s skin against his own. A tender kiss to John’s shoulder, a nip at his collarbone, and the contented noises in John’s throat were like music to James’ ears.

  
     “It’s just you,” John paused to gasp through his teeth at another nip at his collarbone, “And me, James. You and I against the world.”

  
     James realized, his lips on John’s chest, that he was content with that. At any time before now, if someone had asked him to fight against the world James would have collapsed and given up out of fear or apathy, but now, now everything was different and suddenly everything was possible. John was his pillar, his inspiration, his everything, and if John asked him to stand against the world he’d do so without any hesitation. Together he and John could stand against anyone who sought to destroy them, together, like they always had. James wasn’t standing in John’s shadow, he never was, he’d been standing beside him since the beginning, and he would until the very end, and just because no one could see it, it didn’t mean it wasn’t real. 


	5. July 1776

_ July 1776 _

 

     It had taken less than a month for the castles they’d built to crumble into dust. James sat, entirely numb, in the same position for hours while his fellow delegates milled about around him. They were probably speaking, James knew, but their voices fell on deaf ears as he sat there, staring blankly at nothing. It was so hot and yet he was still shaking, his lips parted slightly with a million things he should have said. His brain was flooded with static, an inability to think, and a constant, unwavering sickness in his chest spawned out of guilt or fear, he wasn’t sure which. With equal parts numbness and adrenaline, he couldn’t manage to string his thoughts together, and he was stuck with only the debilitating fear that, over the course of a few minutes, he’d managed to ruin everything that he loved.

  
     The previous night had been just like any other night when John dragged James out for a drink after Congress was adjourned. They’d sit in some secluded corner of a tavern and drink, and John would whisper things to James that would make him blush, and he’d be constantly paranoid that someone would overhear, but they never would. Eventually the alcohol and tavern smoke would make James fairly dizzy, and they’d drag each other home, James hushing John through his laughter when John got too loud in his late night ramblings. They’d somehow, thank the lord, make their way home and collapse on each other in bed, clumsily stripping each other of their clothes and covering each other with kisses. James would wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, but he’d wake up in John’s arms and that managed to make everything alright. 

  
     They’d gone to Congress that morning just like they always did, James’ hand in John’s as they rode in companionable silence. James knew, vaguely, that today was important, that it was the day the question of independence would finally be decided, yet he wasn’t worried. He knew John would take care of it like he could take care of everything else. There was simply nothing to worry about; when John set his mind to something no one could countervail it. So James didn’t worry; in fact, he barely even thought about it until suddenly the vote was eleven to one, and Pennsylvania was standing alone in its defiance. John was still smirking, his handsome, unwavering confidence a sign that everything was still in their favor. He was close, so close to crushing forever their little insurrection; James really didn’t care either way, so long as he could go home at the end of the day and hold John in his arms, forever living a vastly uneventful, forgettable life. 

  
     Yet somehow, everything managed to collapse so quickly. Their fellow delegate requested that the delegation be polled. One yea, one nay. He heard his name called hesitantly, and in one nauseating, horrifying moment, everything was up to him. He held in his hands the decision of their country’s future. Of his own future. Time seemed to stop, other than the painful, dizzying hammer of his heart against his ribcage. Dozens of pairs of eyes burned into him. Worst of all, they wouldn’t stop talking. 

  
     “An entirely new nation, Mr. Wilson, waiting to be born or to die at birth rests entirely on your shoulders.”

  
      _Oh god._

_  
_ “Come now, James,” John’s composure was wavering, “Nothing has changed. We mustn't let Dr. Franklin create one of his confusions. The question is clear.” 

  
      _Oh god, oh god, oh god._

_  
_ “Most questions are when someone else has to decide them.”

  
      _Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-_

     If James could move he would have ran. He would have screamed. He would have punched Mr. Adams in the face for dragging him and John into this in the first place. Yet he simply sat there, frozen, overwhelmed by numbing panic. He didn’t bargain for this. He never wanted power, nor responsibility, nor to even be remembered. And now the world was threatening to foist that upon him after everything he’d done to avoid it.

     “It would be a pity,” God he hated that voice. That smug voice from that insufferable little man who seemed hell-bent on destroying everything James loved. “For a man who handed down hundreds of wise decisions from the bench,” James’ jaw clenched, his panic momentarily replaced with unbridled anger, “To be remembered for the one unwise decision he made in Congress.” 

  
     “James,” John’s voice hit him like a punch to the chest. “You’re keeping everybody waiting, the secretary has called for your vote.” James could hear the agitation, the fear, creeping up in John’s voice. John gripped his cane with white knuckles and the only thing James could hear was his own rapid breathing. The heavy anxiety in his throat caused his fingers to tremble, though he could barely feel them, and it was a miracle he could speak at all.

  
     “Please, don’t push me, John,” his voice wavered in a way that would have been embarrassing if he could hold his thoughts together long enough to notice, “I know what you want me to do,” deep down it was what James wanted to do too, to simply stand at the top of the world with John at his side, to forget all of this and run away somewhere. It wasn’t possible now. “But Mr. Adams is right about one thing,” deep down, in some vaguely conscious part of himself, James laughed. That wasn’t something he ever thought he’d find himself saying. The room was blanketed in a disconcerting silence. “I’m the one who’ll be remembered for it.” 

  
     John looked at him in agitated bewilderment and James knew he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. James couldn’t bring himself to meet John’s eyes; if he did, he’d break, so instead, he focused on his hands, balled into trembling fists.

  
     “What do you mean?” 

  
     It wasn’t like John to betray his emotions, though perhaps James could only hear the wavering in John’s voice because he knew that voice so well. He stood up, slowly, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

  
     “I’m different from you, John,” How true that statement was. He didn’t have the strength John had, nor the confidence, nor the will to stand beside what he believed in. “I’m different from most of the men here.” Truer, most of the men there weren’t damnable cowards. “I don’t want to be remembered. I just don’t want the…” He sounded like a petulant child and he knew it. “Responsibility.”

  
     A bewildered, flabbergasted smirk appeared on John’s face, his jaw trembling as he stared at James. James’ eyes focused numbly on John’s cravat. 

  
     “Yes, well, whether you want it or not James,” Every time John said his name he felt another stab to his heart, “There’s no way of avoiding it.” For the first time James could admit, John was wrong.

  
     “Not necessarily. If I go with them I’ll just be one among dozens. No one will ever remember the name of James Wilson.” His own name tasted bitter on his tongue. “But if I vote with you,” James’ eyes flicked up to meet John’s. It was a brief moment, but already painfully long. The pain, the confusion was visible in those eyes that James adored so much. James wished he could simply drop dead on the spot. But there wasn’t any going back, he supposed. “I’ll be the man who prevented American independence. I’m sorry, John-” It was an empty plea. He was sorry, truly, harrowingly sorry, but he knew no apologies could mend what he was about to destroy. “I just didn’t bargain for that.”

  
     John was shaking now, visibly shaking, his jaw clenched in both anger and what still might have been disbelief. “And is that how new nations are formed?” The crack in his voice made James feel sick with guilt. “By a non-entity,” he spat the word, “trying to preserve the anonymity he so richly deserves?”

  
     “Revolutions come into this world like bastard children, Mr. Dickinson,” Another obnoxious voice that James had no interest in hearing, “Half improvise, half compromise. Our side has provided the compromise; now Judge Wilson is supplying the rest.”

  
     Silence. Deep, drowning silence. 

  
     “James…” One look into John’s eyes and James was forced to see the love he might never find again.

  
     “I’m sorry John.” Like John would ever believe that. “But my vote,” his breath caught in his throat, “Is yea.”  
  


     It had been a few hours since, and James was still sitting numbly, unsure of what he should do, what he could do. Blinking, he noticed that most of the delegates had already left. Gone to their homes, or perhaps out to drink. James didn’t know and didn’t quite care. He was only vaguely conscious for the rest of the meeting. The vote had passed, there was a general sense of relief in the room. John had- oh god, John had announced he was leaving for the army. More guilt flooded James’ brain. He had to do something. He couldn’t just sit here until he died, as appealing as the thought might have been. 

     “Wilson!” A sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Mr. Adams stood before him, his characteristic anger nowhere to be found. James looked up at him, unable to speak. “We’re going out for drinks,” Adams said hesitantly, “Would you like to come along?” 

  
     There were a million things James could have said, things he wanted to say. He could have cursed the man for ruining his life. He could have just punched him in the face. Yet he didn’t, he just sheepishly shook his head, unable to formulate any meaningful response. Adams simply looked at him with a degrading look of pity before he left, leaving James alone in the large room with only the light of the candle in front of him. 

  
     He had to speak to John. If John didn’t want to speak to him, that was fine, if John would yell and scream about James being a traitor, that was fine too. He had to see him. He had to try to make this right even if it wasn’t possible. James slowly pushed himself up from his chair, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time. He didn’t mind the walk back home- he expected it would give him time to think about what he would say, if he could bring himself to say anything. The ten blocks were far too short a distance, for, by the time he stood in front of John’s door, his mind was still only filled with overwhelming guilt. A quiet knock on John’s door that he wasn’t even sure John would hear and James stood there in silence for a long, painful moment. The door opened. The silence continued.

  
     “James.”

  
     “Hello, John,” he tried. He half expected the door to slam shut in his face. Perhaps, he pondered, that would be preferable. John stiffly stuck out one hand, scowling down at James in agitated expectation. James looked at him in confusion. 

  
     “Your key,” John said through gritted teeth. 

  
     “John, can we-”

  
     “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said impatiently, “The landlord needs the key.” After a moment of hesitant discomfort, James fished around in his pocket for John’s key, holding it, like it were some kind of lifeline that could manage to keep John beside him, before dropping it in his hand. He was careful not to touch John’s skin, as if the slightest contact would have burned him.  John’s fist closed around it and James looked down at his shoes as John shoved it into his pocket. An uncomfortable silence ensued. “Well,” John continued with more than a hint of agitation in his voice. “I take it that’s not what you came here for.” 

  
     James blinked. “No,” he said slowly, “It’s not.” John raised his dark eyebrows impatiently, expecting something more. James swallowed. “I was hoping we could talk,” he stammered quietly. John’s mouth opened and James thought he was about to tell him no, he’d squandered his chance to talk, he’d ruined everything and he could go drop off the face of the earth for all he cared. But John’s lips closed again and he stiffly held the door open as James hesitantly stepped inside. 

     Clothes were laid about in various neat piles around the room, open bags and stacks of books as well. It was usually a bit cluttered in John’s apartment, but now there was a foreboding sense of cold finality to it all. John didn’t look at him, instead just resumed his packing as James stood there, feeling unwelcome and out of place in the home he’d known for months. James didn’t realize how long he’d been standing there, staring at nothing, until he heard John’s voice again.

  
     “So?” He asked sharply, “You were going to talk?”

  
     James swallowed uncomfortably. He had never felt quite so pathetic. “Yes, I… I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” The silence following was quite cold. Then a sharp, humorless laugh made James wince.

  
     “You’re sorry?” John turned around, a trembling smirk on his face. He spoke rapidly, shakily. “Now that I’m about to go off and get myself killed, you’re sorry?” His voice had a nervous panic in it. “Oh, well thank you, James, that certainly-”

  
     “Stop it!” James cried, covering his eyes in his hand, half surprised by his own uncharacteristic outburst. The smirk, as well as all the emotion,  fell from John’s face and he exhaled with a look of miserable defeat, returning to his packing. Another moment of empty silence and James fidgeting in place. “Are you doing this because of me?” James asked. His voice was so quiet, so hoarse that he wasn’t quite sure he said it. Another harsh laugh, this time much quieter, assured him he did.

  
     “Of course not, James. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t make my choices based upon the actions of traitors.” James clenched his teeth, balling his hands into fists at his side. A mixture of frustration, sadness, and shame warmed his face.

  
     “I did not betray my country.”

  
     John whipped around, an unhinged anger truly blazing in his eyes, and he took a step forward. James took a step back.

  
     “No, you didn’t, James, you betrayed me!” His hand went to his chest, emphasizing his point. John was shouting now, as James had expected he would, but his voice cracked in a pathetic way and James couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of him. Any nervousness he felt had vanished into pity at the raw emotion bleeding through into John’s voice. The anger was gone from John’s eyes in a moment, replaced by only fear and a deep, unshakable sadness that gripped at James’ heart. Tears pricked in John’s eyes, something that James never thought he’d see, and hoped he’d never see again. John’s voice faltered. “You betrayed us. You broke the promise you made to me.” It was a harsh, wavering whisper and James felt nauseatingly helpless. His hands shaking, John collapsed ungracefully down onto his bed, staring down at the floor. Without a moment’s hesitation, James sat beside him, the same way he always did when John wasn’t feeling well. He doubted John would have had the energy to tell him off anyway. 

  
     James cautiously rested a hand on John’s back, the tips of his fingers grazing the ends of his hair. Unable to restrain himself, for his heart still achingly demanded John’s touch, James rested his head against John’s shoulder, desperate for his warmth. John didn’t react, and they sat like that until James lost track of time, the only noise being John’s shaky, tearful breathing.

  
     “James?” 

  
     A questioning hum.

  
     “I’m scared.”

  
     Guilt clawed at James’ heart again and he put one arm around John’s shoulder, pulling him closer, hoping, that if he pulled him close enough he wouldn’t leave. “Then don’t leave me, John.”

  
     “I have to.” For all of the wavering in John’s voice, he made an effort to be firm.

  
     “You don’t.”

  
     “My honor demands it.”

  
     “Damn your honor.”

  
     A shaky laugh. James supposed that was better than tears. The lopsided smirk that James had grown to depend on appeared, trembling, on John’s face.  “You only say that because you have none.”

  
     James supposed he was right. 

  
     “I would stay by your side forever.” _If only I could._

     “But you didn’t.”

  
     A wince. “You put me in an impossible situation, John.” James hoped it didn’t sound too much like pleading.

  
     “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” It wasn’t like John to admit he was wrong. He gave a quiet, tired sigh. “I’m sorry, James.”

  
     “Don’t apologize. Just don’t go. Please.” 

  
     “Alright then.”

  
     “You promise?”

    
     “Yeah.” 

  
     James knew it was a desperate lie. Still, he could convince himself for the night that it was true, that John would stay, that John was his. That John would remain by his side forever. He managed to fall asleep still clinging to the comfort of his desperate lie, hopeful in the knowledge that John wasn’t about to march off and die, that everything he loved hadn’t come to some tragic end. That he and John could remain, side by side, forever. It worked, for a brief, shining moment, until he woke up the next morning painfully alone, to a cold and empty bed, and a life devoid of love.  _   
_


	6. May 1787

_ May 1787 _

 

     James hated Philadelphia. Not only the noise and the clamor, but the painful memories that seemed to find him at every street corner. He couldn’t so much as go for a walk without being bitterly reminded of a man he hadn’t heard from in years, a man who, as far as he knew, wanted nothing to do with him. He passed by a streetlamp, biting his cheek. He couldn’t help but remember the night John had kissed him beneath that same streetlamp, over a decade prior. John’s hands on his hips, James nervously hushing him as if someone might see. James tried to blink the memories from his brain but they always returned at the sight of a familiar tavern, a bench, a front door. 

  
     Eleven years and his brain was still stuck on John Dickinson. Nay, perhaps it was his heart that was stuck. Either way, it was proving to be an annoying issue that was only exacerbated upon his return to Philadelphia. Part of him thought it would simply be best not to come at all, to just live out the rest of his life in obscure seclusion. Unfortunately, it was hard to avoid being pressured into attending a convention such as this, though he figured that if he kept his head down he’d be able to remain in relative obscurity. That was the plan; to arrive, to not quite participate, to keep his head down, and to return home, the future of the country’s government secured. That whole plan went straight to hell, of course, the moment John Dickinson strode into the room. 

  
     For the first few moments upon seeing him, James almost didn’t believe it. It wasn’t like he couldn’t recognize him; his casual charm and his propensity to wave his cane about when he walked were unmistakable, and visible from a hundred miles away. Of course, now his hair was streaked with silver and the lines on his cheeks were more pronounced, yet the brightness of his eyes was catching and James’ heart still lept at the sight as it had eleven years ago. Eleven long, empty years, of no letters, no words, nothing from John Dickinson. And yet here he was, talking jovially with his fellow delegates from Delaware, and making James’ heart pound frenetically like he always had. James stared down at his desk, thankful, for the thousandth time in his life that he was barely noticeable.

  
     The rest of the day passed in bland monotony. Delegates would get up and give speeches, thinking they were contributing something to the conversation, arguments would arise, and no one would accomplish anything. James smiled in faint amusement, thinking about how similar this was to the Congress of 1776. Eventually, they’d all give up on arguing and decide to simply head out to the tavern, men who’d been at each other’s throats hours earlier now surprisingly amicable. James of course, hurried out, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. He’d head back to his apartment and perhaps he’d just pack his things and leave. Perhaps he’d return home and seclude himself for the rest of his life, like the miserable little coward he was.

     Of course, that didn’t happen that night. That night he went back to his apartment and promptly laid in his bed, not bothering to even take off his coat. He laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why this had to happen to him. Lovers ended on bad terms all the time; rarely, James thought, does one spend every day wishing they hadn’t. Not a day had gone by that James hadn’t thought about John, and each day it only seemed to become more painful. He thought that if perhaps he just didn’t see him, if he distanced himself from the man, he’d eventually forget. The past eleven years had proved that to be hopeless.

  
     The next few weeks passed in stiflingly hot tediousness. Arguments, speeches, all seemed to blend into each other like water on an oil painting. James spent most days staring off out the window,   stealing a fraction of a glance towards the Delaware delegation, only to be wracked with guilt at a glimpse of John’s silvering hair or that distinctive green he always wore. James smiled to himself, painfully, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in a way he disapproved of. So few people could manage to pull off the color green. He’d been self-indulgently amusing his own thoughts on the color green and on the way John’s hips moved when he shifted in his seat when he allowed his eyes to linger for a moment too long on John’s frame, only roused from his thoughts when John’s eyes met his. Time seemed to stop and James’ breath hitched in his throat in the brief millisecond that John seemed to acknowledge his presence. A nervous twisting in his stomach made James simply want to leave the building at that moment and never return, but he blinked, and when he opened his eyes again John was focused on whoever was speaking at the front of the room. Immediately, James decided that the second the meeting was over he’d go through with his plan to leave. He’d pack up his things and disappear, rather than be victim to his own embarrassment and attachment.

     The moment the meeting was adjourned and James shot up from his seat. He didn’t run out of the room, per se, but was close to it, still flushed from his earlier indiscretion. Pacing hurriedly in the direction of his apartment, James became all too aware of the sound of footsteps behind him, which only grew more rapid as he walked faster. Some deep part of him begged him to simply ignore it, to not let his heart be damaged once again. Yet all the walls James had built over the years had simply vanished at the sound of that voice.

  
     “James.”

  
     James hadn’t made it halfway home when he stopped dead in an alleyway, John’s voice sending shockwaves of indescribable emotions through him. Anger? Sadness? Pure, unbridled happiness? Most likely a mix of the three. He simply stood there as the man behind him stood silent, James’ chest rising and falling visibly through labored breaths. He could just keep walking. Pretend he heard nothing, hail a carriage and get out of Philadelphia before John Dickinson came strolling back into his life. And yet he didn’t. He couldn’t. He turned around to meet those beautiful blue eyes he saw so often in his dreams.

  
     “Hello, John.” 

  
     John took a step forward. James didn’t move. Twirling a lock of brown and silver hair around his fingers, John awkwardly avoided meeting James’ eyes. The tense silence between the two became palpable, yet for once James wasn’t the one riddled with anxiety.

  
     “It’s… been a long time, hasn’t it, James?” A frail attempt to be amicable. A shaky, lopsided grin. James barely resisted both the urge to hug the man and the urge to kick him in the shins.

  
     “It has, hasn’t it?” James prompted, his voice uncharacteristically firm and unemotional. “Look at you, your hair’s all grey.” John’s eyebrows raised in surprise for a moment, then he gave a breathy laugh, letting his hands fall to his sides and slowly regaining some amount of casual composure. 

  
     “You’re one to talk.” A lame attempt at humor. “How long has it been?” His voice was weak and pained, carrying the weight of a million things he should have said. Even after this long, John was no good at making small talk. A sudden anger swelled within James.

  
     “Eleven years, John Dickinson.” James bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to stop its trembling. “Eleven years without a single letter, without any word from you-” James’ hands were balled into fists and he hurriedly tried to get control of himself. “You know, if your work didn’t appear in the newspaper I wouldn’t have known if you were even alive.” His voice wavered somewhere between anger and desperate pleading. John looked down at the ground and James decided that perhaps shame was a good look on him. 

  
     “I’m sorry, James,” John said to the ground. His head then snapped up with a bit of a frustrated look. “But I don’t exactly recall you writing to me either.”

     James blushed, his shoes having suddenly captured his attention.“I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.” 

  
     A pointed glance. “I thought exactly the same.” John paused. “And… I was scared.” He looked back down at the ground, his fingers nervously twiddling his hair. An unsure, shaky smirk appeared on James’ face.

  
     “John Dickinson doesn’t get scared of anything.” The corners of John’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly.

  
     “You know me better than that, James.” A long moment of silence ensued, both men stewing in their own shame. Eventually, John reached out, tentatively, his hand on James’ shoulder in an attempt at making peace. James nearly hesitated, nearly stepped away, but at that moment he was utterly controlled by his heart and pulled John into a hug, burying his face into John’s chest. He felt John tense, then relax and wrap his arms around James’ back, resting his chin upon James’ head. James had never felt more pathetic when tears started to well up in his eyes and fall down his cheeks, and he was glad John couldn’t see. He knew John could still tell though, from the shaking of his shoulders as he sobbed silently into John’s chest. He was glad John had decided to stop him in a shadowy alley where no one would witness the spectacle. John only hugged him tighter, pressing kisses into his hair. Eleven years and James didn’t realize how much he missed John’s scent, the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth he emanated when he pulled James close to him. 

     James had actually planned things he’d say to John when he saw him again, yet all his preparations abandoned him when the moment came and he couldn’t seem to stop crying. Eventually, when he accumulated the force of will to calm himself down, he pulled away from John’s chest, noticing the tear stains on his waistcoat with vague amusement. He didn’t look up at John though, fearing that one look into those eyes would make him start crying all over again, and instead, he focused his eyes on John’s cravat as he tried to summon up the strength to speak.

  
     “John,” his voice wavered, though he’d gone too far to feel embarrassed, “I have missed you every single day since you left.” He took a shaky breath, “And I thought I could just ignore you and continue on my life without you.” He finally managed to look up into John’s eyes. “But I suppose I always knew that couldn’t happen. And I don’t think I can forgive you,” James paused, “Not right now, at least. But I am not about to let go of you again.” John smiled in relief, and James’ heart felt alright for the first time in over a decade. The lines on John’s cheeks were far more pronounced than they’d been eleven years ago, yet the familiar urge to kiss them remained all the same.

  
     “I’ll admit,” John said quietly, “I have been a pretty terrible friend.” He gave James’ shoulders a squeeze, and James nodded. John looked away, warmth flooding his cheeks. 

  
     “That you have, John.” John gave a breathless laugh.

  
     “And an even worse lover.”

  
     “I’ve loved you all the same.” 

  
     John looked down into James’ eyes with a rare, heartfelt, emotional sincerity that just made James want to hold onto him and to not let go again. John’s fingers were trembling against his biceps, he could feel it, and James could see the tears pricking in the corners of John’s eyes. With an embarrassed, lopsided grin John hastily wiped them away, before pressing a kiss to James’ forehead. John laced his fingers into James’ hair, holding him close, as James closed his eyes, reveling in the nearly-forgotten and long-missed feeling of John’s breath on his skin.

  
     “James?” It was quiet but comfortable, lacking any fear or nervousness.

  
     “Yes, John?”

  
     “Would you like to… start over?” James laughed, struck by sudden amusement, before shaking his head.

  
     “I’m surprised at you, John. I do believe we’ve known each other far too long to simply start over.” John nodded, before pressing his lips to James’ forehead once more.

  
     “I suppose you’re right, my dear.” The title brought a smile to James’ lips. John pressed his cheek to James’ temple, hugging him tighter as if he hoped to bring him closer than he possibly could be. James hoped for the same. “What then, James? How shall we carry on?” James was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers against John’s back in thought. 

  
     “We could go home and talk.”

  
     “Talk? About what?”

  
     “Anything. You. Me. Us.” James didn’t care. He just wanted to hear John’s voice, to hold him in his arms.

  
     “And would you like that?”

  
     “More than anything.”

  
     John looked down at him, beaming in a way that managed to bring all the sunlight back into James’ life and all of the happiness back into his heart. His eyes shone, even in the dim light of the evening, and if James had the opportunity to simply stand there and stare into them for all eternity, he would have taken it. Instead, John took his hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze, and started walking with James beside him. 

  
     “Then, my love, that is exactly what we are going to do.”  
  
\----------

 

     James woke up to the familiar muggy heat of the Philadelphia summer with sunlight streaming into the windows. He didn’t want to wake up- he was comfortable, shamefully so, and the heavy comforter laid snuggly across his chest. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before and he felt exhaustion deep in his bones, but the sun was blazing directly into his eyes in a way that made him squirm. He draped his forearm over his eyes, fully aware of the futility of the matter, and desperately attempted to return to the clutches of sleep. Alas, it was pointless, and with a quiet groan he blinked his eyes open, wincing at the mid-morning sun. 

     At first, he was startled. He wasn’t in his own bed or his own apartment and the sheets under him were an unfamiliar yet disastrously comfortable silk. He blinked again, repeatedly, until he began to piece together his surroundings, starting with the man in bed beside him. One look at John’s peacefully resting face, his silvering hair glinting in the streams of sunlight that pierced through the curtains, and James was slowly able to recollect the events from the night before. 

They’d walked home together, awkwardly fumbling words and making hesitant eye contact, their hands occasionally, perhaps desperately brushing against each other. Gradually, weak attempts at humor and feeble laughter became a familiar banter, John animatedly telling stories of things that had happened in the decade they’d missed each other. James would occasionally interject something, something John would find incredibly funny, to the point that James was forced to stand in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for John to collect himself as he was doubled over, leaning against a wall in laughter. Still, the sound of John’s laugh awakened years of buried memories from the abandoned recesses of James’ mind, in a way that warmed his heart and made him wonder why they’d ever abandoned each other in the first place.

  
     Eventually, they’d made it back to Dickinson’s apartment and James’ nervous feelings returned. He felt out of place and stood awkwardly against a wall until John slowly, hesitantly pressed a hand to his bicep, beckoning him to take a seat on the bed. James would have considered it far too intimate if John’s apartment were not otherwise barren. He’d only recently moved, John had blusteringly tried to explain. James’ hesitations quickly dissipated and soon the two were talking with the same rapport they’d come to rely on, John’s hand, far too rarely, coming to rest on James’ thigh. Soon James lost track of the time, only realizing how long they’d been talking when John had to light a candle. The sun had vanished over the horizon and left the room in a comforting dark. They’d talked for hours, neither of them worried about being ready to return to the convention the next morning, and certainly not worried about James returning to his own lodgings that night. They’d talked until they physically couldn’t keep their eyes open, and James’ memory started to go fuzzy.

  
     But here he was, sitting in the warmth of the morning sunlight with John beside him. Of course, for years he’d woken up still barely clinging to the thought that John was with him, that things were alright, but now it was unmistakably real. Almost not believing it, James carefully brushed his fingertips against John’s cheekbone, smiling when his nose twitched in his sleep. He could have sat there forever, but John soon began stirring, taking James’ hand in his own while he blinked away sleepy confusion. Biting his cheek in annoyance, James realized that he’d managed to lose the ribbon holding his hair in place in his sleep, as his hair now hung limply down his back. John seemed to notice too, as he smirked and pushed himself up on his elbow, reaching over James’ shoulder to caress the silver locks. 

  
     “John…” James chided, though not entirely minding John’s fingers in his hair. John smiled, sitting up and resting his head against James’ shoulder, so their cheeks hesitantly brushed against each other.

  
     “Yes, James?” James swallowed, still overcome with how much he’d missed the sound of his name on John’s lips. The vague sensation of John’s breath against his ear sent a tingle up his spine and he almost didn’t want to speak, instead to just pause time and enjoy the near-forgotten intimacy forever.

  
     “Could I perhaps borrow a hair tie?” He asked quietly, his eyes closed in a mixture of fatigue and contentment. John gave a beleaguered, melodramatic groan, giving a gentle tug on James’ hair. 

  
     “You wound me, sir.” John groaned facetiously, bringing a humored smile to James’ lips. James gave John’s cheek a gentle nudge with his own, knowing it was quite difficult for John to deny him. John sighed, pulling away with a tired smile. “All right, all right.” He pointed to the opposite corner of the room, over James’ shoulder, to a pile of unpacked bags and trunks. “They’re in that box, on the top.” With that, he fell back into bed, deciding waking up wasn’t all that worth it if James was going to deny him the pleasure of playing with his hair anyway. With a little smirk and a bit of a stiff groan, James pushed himself out of bed, yawning as he made his way to the box John had indicated. A look over his shoulder and James smiled at John, who had already fallen back asleep, burying his face in a pillow, trying to avoid the dastardly sunlight that dared to disturb his rest. 

  
     James gently pushed open the lid of the box and stared down into its collection of miscellaneous items. Quills, stacks of letters tied neatly in ribbons, and a pile of hair ties, all that bright chartreuse that John so adored. James’ eyes widened slightly. Next to the ties was a familiar item, something that made James’ breath catch in his throat. He slowly pulled it out, running the pad of his thumb against the knit fabric. A scarf, distinctly green and aged with years of loving use.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on my tumblr @oh-mr-adams if you want to talk about james wilson i love him


End file.
